


'cause heaven ain't close in a place like this

by notavodkashot



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cor's POV, Drunken Flirting, M/M, Not-quite Daddy Kink, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: “Stop calling me sir,” he muttered, one last salute to the fact he knew damn well fucking a boy less than half his age was probably not exactly wise, but Cor hadn’t reached forty-five doing what was wise, only what felt right.





	'cause heaven ain't close in a place like this

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon over at the anon meme, who got hate for their shipping preferences. And also because this ship is delicious and writing spite porn for it was too good to resist.
> 
> Warning, there will be Feelings and Canon events in the two other chapters, and them actually having a relationship throughout it all. So if you just want Prompto being prime twink material and Cor pointedly resisting the urge to feel like a dirty old man, you might want to avoid the rest of it.
> 
> You have been warned.

* * *

_i. i really don't mind what happens now and then, as long as you'll be my friend at the end_

* * *

 

When Regis told Cor that Noctis’ best friend needed remedial training for the Crownsguard, Cor had bowed and told him it would be done, and then immediately dumped the boy into Monica’s hands.

Because Cor knew Prompto. Well, _of_ Prompto. And while Noctis adored his best friend and only ever spoke of him in the best terms and highest praise, Cor wasn’t an idiot. It was very easy to conclude that while the boy was friendly and loyal and someone Noctis cared for deeply, he was also a living, walking disaster and Cor absolutely did not look forward to training that personally. And Regis hadn’t asked him to, either, he’d just asked him to make sure he was Crownsguard fit by the end of it, and ready to join Noctis on his trip to build his own armiger, much like Cor had accompanied Regis, some thirty years back.

Cor didn’t feel old when he thought about that.

Mostly.

It wasn’t his problem anymore, anyway. It was Monica’s. And Monica had a good head on her shoulders and a good grip of the reins and she knew exactly how to make people shape up where necessary. Really, deep down, Cor knew damn well the only reason Monica didn’t have his job, which she was probably infinitely more qualified for than he was, was because Lucis was losing the war, and ridiculous war heroes were necessary. The kind that had stupid names like The Immortal and came home without fanfare every time he should have rightly be dead.

That and the fact every time he offered her the post she snorted, told him no, and told him to finish his quarterly budgets already instead of trying to find some poor sod to do them for him.

“You’re a shitty immortal,” Prompto told him, the next time he saw the boy, and it snapped Cor out of the little spiral tangent his mind was desperately trying to go into, to avoid having to deal with the fact he had a three-inch thick piece of rebar stuck in his gut. “You’re supposed to be invincible!”

Cor stared at the boy – was struck by the weird purple flecks in his eyes – and then snorted. It hurt all the way to his toes, but it shook him out of the languid place blood loss was trying to take him. Cor reached out and grabbed Prompto’s face with one hand, aiming to cradle but really just sort of, realizing how small the boy’s head was, that his hand nearly covered half of it before he managed to twitch it to the right angle so his thumb was resting on his lips.

“No,” Cor said, watching Prompto fall deadly silent, eyes wide and lips parted under his thumb. “Help me up.”

“But,” Prompto asked, quiet and nervous, even as he did as he was told, holding tight on Cor’s hands as he yanked himself forward, leaving the rebar stuck to the wall and a puddle of blood all over the floor. “You’re-”

“Immortal, right?” Cor said, and clenched his free hand until the hi-potion bottle cracked and he found himself wrapped up in soothing, green magic.

He noticed he was still holding Prompto’s hand in his, and that the boy was busy staring at his side and then poking at it with his own free hand, once the magic was done. He flushed – his eyes looked even prettier in his flushed face – when he realized Cor was staring at him.

“Come on,” Cor said, sword falling into his fingers with a twitch of his mind, “there’s still work to do.”

But he didn’t let go of Prompto’s hand.

He didn’t even notice, really.

Really.

* * *

“Never been called shitty immortal before,” Cor told Prompto, as they settled in the haven to wait for morning and figure how to go home.

It was the wrong thing to say, of course – Cor had a knack for choosing that, always – because the boy shrunk inside his bones, hands trembling just so, and began to apologize immediately. Cor didn’t like that. It was, admittedly, more in line with the sort of thing Noctis had told him about his best friend, the fact he was anxious and nervous and not really combat material. But worst of all, it contradicted the snarky, panicked, flailing soldier that had kept up with Cor after he helped him back to his feet. Prompto’s assignment was meant to be small and insignificant and not at all dangerous, for all it involved him being outside the Wall for the first time. Monica had thought he was ready for it. Having fought with him, Cor agreed.

And of course, it wasn’t Monica’s or Prompto’s fault that Cor had brought his assignment into the mixture, with half a battalion of imperial forces trying their darnest to kill him very dead. Prompto had shot everything Cor had told him needed shooting, and even a few things that he hadn’t, and despite the fact he was very clearly at the edge of his very frayed nerves, the boy had held himself together.

“Shut up, Prompto,” Cor said, reaching a hand again, to cradle the boy’s head and shush his frantic apologizing, “you did good today.”

Because he had. He did.

He was a good boy.

Prompto flushed and looked away, but at least didn’t apologize anymore.

Cor hadn’t gotten this far without a deep seated appreciation for small victories, so it was fine.

It was fine.

* * *

“Why are you here?” Prompto blurted out miserably, the next time he ran into Cor, which Cor thought was somewhat rude and uncalled for, really, considering Cor had written him a nice, glowing letter of recommendation that ended up with Monica and Clarus, separately, point blank asking if he’d been paid to do so.

Which was why Cor never did anything nice for anyone, ever, but he wasn’t petty enough to tell them so.

Admittedly, Prompto’s spluttering could be attributed to the fact they were meeting in a bar, that was really just a front for three separate money laundering schemes and two drug trade operations, which was probably why the boy was there in the first place, considering Monica was pushing him to follow in her footsteps, as far as specialization went. Which was smart, really, considering Monica saw little combat and was far deadlier because of it. Cor liked to tease her that he killed monsters and daemons with ease, but she only murdered by the thousands. She didn’t think it was that funny, admittedly, but then Cor had long resigned himself to live with the knowledge no one found his jokes funny.

Frankly, Cor visited the place because no one ever recognized him and usually all it took was one or two drinks before he found someone willing to suck his dick in a bathroom stall, and there were never any messy questions to answer afterward. It was great.

“Guess,” Cor deadpanned, one eyebrow arched as the boy shuffled in place, got shoved by the crowd in the dance floor and ended up pressed against his side for his trouble.

“I got roofied and I’m hallucinating,” Prompto said, in that same tone he used in the battlefield, where his voice was a whole octave higher and the panic was undeniable, but he still kept talking and moving and his eyes were enormous and unlike any shade of blue Cor had ever seen before. “You’re going to take me out back, put your hand on my face again and I’m going to worship your cock and call you Daddy.”

Cor arched an eyebrow at him. Prompto swallowed hard and stared at his crotch.

“I don’t have a gag reflex,” he whispered, pained and awkward.

So Cor took him out back, yes, but only so he could shuffle him into the backseat of his car, parked about two blocks away, and then drive back home while brazenly ignoring the fact Prompto was drunkenly writhing in the back, pants caught in his ankles and hands doing... something.

It was fine.

* * *

Cor woke up to the sound of Prompto throwing up violently in his bathroom. Well, he hoped it was his bathroom. There were stains in the backseat that he wasn’t looking forward to cleaning – he wasn’t, of course he wasn’t, he wasn’t a dirty old man, not yet – and the less bodily fluids he had to scrub off his property, the better. Cor padded into the bathroom to make sure the boy hadn’t somehow killed himself in the process of throwing up the industrial quantities of alcohol he’d drank the night before, and found him clutching the bowl with a miserable expression on his face.

“Prompto,” Cor said, leaning on the doorway, studying the remnants of the little leather get up the boy had been wearing the night before. “Breakfast?”

Prompto looked up at him, blinking away tears, and stared for a moment before croaking:

“Are you going to put on a shirt?”

Which made Cor realize he was wearing only the thin, loose pants he wore to bed, which weren’t really hiding anything. Not that he ever really had anything to hide, honestly, living alone like he did.

He found himself smirking, lips tugged sideways and up, as he arched an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

Prompto nodded.

“Breakfast sounds amazing.”

* * *

“You can’t tell him I said this,” Prompto begged him, over a plate of eggs and bacon, which he inhaled in three bites and kept not asking for seconds until Cor caved in and served him more. “But Noct is the reason I don’t date.”

“Why?” Cor asked, sipping his coffee as he watched Prompto eat with the thoroughness of one used to leaving nothing to waste.

“You know why,” Prompto whispered, shrinking again – Cor hated watching him shrink, like sails on a boat with the wind taken out of them, abrupt and nervous, he wanted to find who had taught him that, and teach them a few things, instead. Prompto shrugged. “It’s not… I don’t want to date anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’s just.”

“Sex is fun,” Cor said, because it was better than admit how well he understood Prompto’s little conundrum.

“Yes!” Prompto replied, a little too loud, too excited, and then immediately flushed scarlet. “Just. It’s fun and it doesn’t matter, and no one has to know who my best friend is, or try to use me as leverage against him. It’s...”

“You’re nineteen and cute and have no gag reflex,” Cor summarized neatly, and snickered when Prompto choked on spit. “Why wouldn’t sex be fun for you.”

“Oh… my god, I didn’t dream that,” Prompto whimpered, staring up at Cor like he expected Cor to… do something unpleasant beyond stare at him. “I’m… Oh gods, I’m so sorry. Marshal. Sir! I didn’t-”

Cor put his mug on the counter, consciously far away. Then he took a deep breath and pressed a hand against the side of Prompto’s face.

“Shut up, Prompto.”

They were silent for a moment, which meant Prompto’s anxious breathing echoed in the kitchen, loud and desperate. He was quiet now, yes, but Cor still had his hand on his face, and it still fit there easily, sort of like it was molded to rest against his palm, fingers cradling it gently.

“I would,” Prompto whispered, hoarse, face still red but not as violently purple as before, “suck your dick and call you Daddy.”

“Would you,” Cor deadpanned, not quite intoned like a question, even as he stepped closer, tugging the boy to meet him halfway across the kitchen isle as he leaned in.

Prompto’s eyes were gigantic on his face, nearly black because his pupils were dilated and eating up the blue.

“If you’d let me, yes,” Prompto said, shaking all over, like there was just… too much of him, and his skin was two sizes too small to hold it all.

Cor knew it was a terrible idea, even before he leaned in to kiss him. He knew. The thing was, he always knew his bad ideas were bad, even before he committed to them. He still did it anyway, just like always. Prompto tasted of bacon, eggs and desperation, and when he wrapped his lips around Cor’s cockhead and sucked it in, he really did have no gag-reflex to speak of. Cor stared at the ceiling and leaned back against the counter, legs parted enough for Prompto to cling to his waist and fuck his throat on his dick. It was terrible, even if he came down the boy’s throat, one hand holding his head in place even as thin fingers dug grooves into his thighs.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Prompto whispered, because he was an irreverent cheeky brat, whenever he managed to hit the right balance between panic and excitement.

Cor laughed and kicked him out, because the alternative was take him back to bed and give him something to be really thankful for.

* * *

Cor didn’t think about Prompto – he just dreamed about him and his mouth, lips wrapped prettily around his cock, and his eyes, blown wide and needy, staring up at him – and determined they were good and done. Monica still preened about his progress and the fact he would be ready to tackle the trip, and Noctis still told Cor about him, when they sneaked out of the Citadel and went for ice cream by the docks.

It was fine.

Even if Regis was growing gray around the edges and Clarus kept nudging him out of his studio without any real answers. There was a stench of Niflheim in the air, something of a plot conspiring to drive Cor insane, and everyone insisted on not telling him about it.

“Sounds to me you need to get laid,” Titus told him, sharing a beer in his office, and Cor rolled his eyes and didn’t tell him to fuck off, because Titus was solid and a good friend, and Cor didn’t have many of those.

He didn’t expect to walk out of the room – storm off like a bratty child, which Titus was sure to tease him for, as soon as he was far away he would be too lazy to turn back and punch him for it – and run into Prompto.

“I was just,” the boy squawked, jittery and small again, “clothes,” he babbled on, when he realized it was Cor who’d nearly run him over. “My uniform. I came for my uniform.”

And Cor still hated that, the jitters and the nerves, when they lacked the edge of reckless wit he’d seen glimpses of before. He also hated how he couldn’t look at the boy in the eye, fixated on his mouth instead: pink lips thin and perfect and-

“Come on,” Cor said, before his brain could fully catch up with him, “I’ll take you there.”

Prompto didn’t argue, just followed, and Cor was not angry at himself for it, even though it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted, really. He introduced Prompto to Clarus, when they ran into him, because it seemed sensible at the time, even though Clarus was preoccupied with the war and the treaty and the million things Regis had deemed above Cor’s pay grade, and which kept him up at night every night, thinking of the million ways he’d failed his King already.

* * *

“Do you want to come in?” Prompto asked him, as he stopped outside his house – a tiny, well-kept, utterly mundane house, in a nice enough neighborhood – looking at his feet.

Cor tried to read the real question beneath and knew any and all should be answered the same – no – but he thought of Prompto sitting on his heels, head tilted back and mouth open wide, and found it hard to breathe.

“Your parents,” he began, because this was the whole point, really, the excuse to drive the boy home so he could show off what he’d made of himself.

“Aren’t home,” Prompto said, smile on his face plastic and paper-thin, “do you want to come in, sir?”

And Cor heard, do you want to fuck me?

And he knew he should say no. Short, sharp, final.

“Sure,” he said instead, and turned off the engine to cover up the sound of Prompto’s hurried, uneven breathing in reply.

Prompto walked steadily up the stairs and into the house, shuffling out of his shoes and leaving the bag of his new clothes on the table by the stairs. Cor followed in silence, eyes fixated on the unconscious sway of those thin hips.

“I’m sorry about the mess, sir,” Prompto whispered, not looking at him in the eye, and Cor realized he was expected to look around the room and find fault in it.

Cor grabbed Prompto’s face, instead, tilted it upwards and sideways and tugged him close.

“Stop calling me sir,” he muttered, one last salute to the fact he knew damn well fucking a boy less than half his age was probably not exactly wise, but Cor hadn’t reached forty-five doing what was _wise_ , only what felt right.

And following Prompto down his tumble into bed, feeling the mattress sink under his knees and the boy arch up to grind against him, that felt right.

“Please,” Prompto begged, flushed and trembling and utterly gone, “please.”

Cor found he shut up with teeth on his nipples, belly sucked in so sharp it dipped beneath his ribs, and his voice cracked half an octave higher when fingers dipped inside him. Cor didn’t want to go slow – had been wanting, dreaming this for months now, waking up alone with the ghost of cheeky laughter and twinkling eyes haunting him every time he closed his own – but he did anyway, because if Prompto wanted to stop, he’d stop. He would. He wasn’t a monster. Not yet.

Prompto covered his face with his hands, babbling and begging and then hiccuped a moan and came all over himself with Cor’s cockhead just barely inside him.

“You did good,” Cor whispered, tugging at the narrow hips, sinking further into wet, tight warmth, and Prompto keened like he was wounded, except his cock twitched and his lips trembled. “You did so good.”

“Please don’t stop,” Prompto whispered, a sob spun out into a thin, trembling note, eyes open wide and fingers clutched tight on his sides, trying to hold him close. “Please don’t-”

Cor inched his way into him, thighs trembling with the effort to resist the urge of slamming in one sharp stroke, and it was worth it only for the sounds Prompto made as he opened up for him.

“So good,” Cor purred at him, because it was true, but also because Prompto whimpered and trembled and his muscles clenched on reflex.

Cor certainly wasn’t good, coming balls deep inside his nephew’s best friend, refusing to stew on all the things his instincts insisted were going to shit and his King wouldn’t let him acknowledge.

He painted his fingers in purple on Prompto’s hips and followed the boy into the shower when they were done. There he painted his teeth down his spine and pointedly did not ask who taught him to arch his back and hold himself open like that.

* * *

“Are...” Prompto began, when they were cleaned and sated and sitting on the couch around takeout Cor ordered while Prompto finished showering. He stopped and looked away and there was the smallness again that made Cor want to grind his teeth and also throw himself off a window, only preferably not one on ground level. “Can we do this again? Not… not anything weird. Just.” Prompto swallowed hard. “Sex.”

I’m your superior officer, Cor did not say.

I’m twenty five years your senior, Cor did not say.

There’s literally no way this will not end up as something you’ll regret, Cor did not say.

“Survive your road trip,” Cor did say, because he was a master of procrastinating on dealing with the consequences of all his terrible ideas, “and then I don’t see why not.”

Prompto stared and stared and then realized he had not been actually rejected, because he smiled down at his hands, dusting of red over the bridge of his nose.

Cor tilted back his beer and did not throw himself face first into his sword. So there was that.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [DW](https://notavodkashot.dreamwidth.org/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


End file.
